


White Daisy Passing

by orphan_account



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daud finds a sliver of hope and redemption in an elderly brothel owner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Daisy Passing

**Author's Note:**

> Low-chaos post Dunwall drabble.

The ground crunched under his boots, the last whispers of a dying season as the air turned cold and thick with the vapor of a thousand nameless breaths. He walked slowly and without purpose, his eyes focused only on the next footprint. Light was fading from the sky as stars began to peek out far above the horizon. Trees stretched above him on either side, carrying on long down the dirt road and casting mighty shadows in the wake of the sunset. Hills loomed in the distance, their ever-vigilant gaze sweeping high above the roofs of the sleepy little Gristol town. His destination was unconfirmed; he'd started out for a pub, but quietly changed his mind, finding the bottle to be an unsuitable sedative for the state of his mind. It was a dark place that occupied his thoughts, and to a dark place he would go.

He was aware, as he was always aware, of the footsteps behind him. They weren't footsteps as much as they were imprints left in the ground, left by the energy of the man that was always watching. In a matter of moments he was beside him, gliding along at the same lazy pace that Daud kept, an arms reach away. They walked like that for some time, with only the crunching of soil to keep them company.

"What would you do if I never stopped walking? If I kept on until my feet bled and wore away, until I collapsed and died from hunger and exhaustion? Until the rats fed on my decaying corpse and my existence was stripped clean from this world by the elements?"

A moment of silence.

"I would follow."

The quiet serenity in the words were a stark contrast to the bitter evening air.

Daud snorted, but said nothing. He felt the presence inching closer and started walking a little quicker to escape it. He fished around in the pocket of his coat for a cigarette and found himself lacking. He sighed, folding his arms to stave off the incoming night air. His coat was heavy, but was smartly tailored and meant more as a status symbol than an insulator. The scarf that was wrapped a little too tightly around his neck served no purpose more than added coverage. He was never one for hats but supposed that maybe he could invest in something nice if this was where he was spending the rest of his days.

The town, the name of which he couldn't be assed to remember, wasn't his first choice but the men (the ones that were left) liked it. They liked the pubs and the farms and the small town camaraderie that came neatly wrapped in an idyllic country package. They yearned for something quiet and simple and loving, and he decided that he owed that to them, so there they were. It wasn't on any map, but that was for all the better. It was far north of Dunwall and everything they were trying to escape, probably a little southeast of Redmoor. They almost headed in that direction but were offered a floor of the town's brothel to live out of as long as Daud agreed to meet the elderly Madame Esma once a week for dinner. Just dinner, she'd said. He had a handsome face and reminded her of her late husband and she could really just use the company. On the unnecessary insistence of his men he obliged, quietly pleased with himself. She was a kindly old soul and so far their dinners had been nothing but pleasant. Living in the brothel itself was less odd of an experience than he'd expected it to be, as most of the women were retired and most of the men in the town were past their prime. Most of the clients just wanted the company, in fact he'd witnessed a successful marriage proposal not a week previous. The event made him feel ill, and he shut himself away in his room for a time.

A hand appeared at his side, holding a solitary cigarette.

"I thought you disapproved of my habit?"

"I do."

Daud furrowed his brow. "I'm not taking it unless it's laced with cyanide."

The arm pulled back, slowly. "Grouchy old man..." The words traveled like a cool breeze across his neck, and he felt a gentle push on his back. Balling his hands into fists he abruptly stopped and turned. The Madame bumped into his chest with a little "oof". He started, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"You alright?"

She shook her little grey head. "Just fine, sweetheart." She peered up at him through round silver spectacles. "Where's my big red robin going at this hour? Your boys are worried about you y'know."

Despite himself, he smiled. "Just out for a walk. Needed to clear my head."

"Oh please honey, you don't need to go out to clear your head, I got a girl that can make a mean mead, clear your head without leavin' your room!"

He indulged her with a chuckle. "I think I'll pass on the alcohol for tonight, however," he offered his arm, "I wouldn't mind a little company."

She laughed, the sound warm on his ears, and leaned into him as she slipped her arm through his. "My gentleman!"

The smile never left his face as they continued on down the way. She was talking pretty constantly, about the girls and her grandchildren, about the man she thought fancied her and oh no she's not like that but she appreciated the gesture anyway and maybe it wasn't so bad if she settled down with someone new. She talked about her late husband, and she talked about her hometown.

"You're Serkonan? I never would have guessed."

She nodded. "I get that a lot. I don't look Serkonan but you can bet your pretty face that my momma was the prettiest bellydancer in the county. I learnt all I know from her. Now she," her eyes unfocused, far away, "she was a real woman of class."

"Well call me crazy but you seem a picture of class yourself."

"Why hasn't someone scooped you up yet?!" She grasped his arm with her free hand, looking up into his face with somber eyes. "Tell me, my robin, what are you running from? Why you bringing all these boys around with you?"

He hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"You got that look about you. You look like you running from something. That was part of the reason I took you in so quick, you and your boys looked so hungry, so broken. What's the matter? You can tell me."

He faltered, his step becoming uneven. "I don't know that I can."

She tightened her grip on his arm. "Who'm I gonna tell? You came to the right place, to escape. This place, it's full of criminals. Or should I say, former criminals. Highwaymen, corrupt nobles, you name it."

"Assassins?"

She gazed at him, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Really."

She shook her head. "Who'd'a thought." She prodded him in the side. "So, who'd you kill?"

He turned toward her, shocked. "How very forward of you."

"Honey I used to be a whore, and a damn good one at that. Nothing's too brazen for me. I've probably bedded more assassins than you've got in your small army, never did me no harm, so I don't even think anything of it."

"I can see your point." He grew quiet, still refusing to answer her question.

"You look so sad now. Stop that." She forced him to stop walking, pulling back on his arm, and stretched so that she was on her toes. She cupped his face in her hands, squeezing his cheeks in the most matronly gesture he'd ever encountered. He was unable to do anything but let her. A low rumble built up in his chest, and soon he was laughing and sweeping her up in his arms and parading her back to the brothel, declaring that he would have a good time if it killed him.

(The Outsider watched, patiently, from the trees.)

Far into the night they talked, of growing empires, of royalty, of criminals, of the nature of man, of the Outsider, of tea, of Serkonos. Once, a few of the Whalers joined in on their conversation, drank mead with them and burst into a song that gave Daud a splitting headache but he felt too alive to care. On one occasion, he even almost joined them.

Instead, he drunkenly danced around the dining hall with the Madame, and when the time came for him to pass out on the couch, she covered him with her shawl, kissing him on the forehead. 

She then went, quietly, upstairs to bed, and passed away in her sleep.

-

He didn't attend the funeral.

Instead, he spent the day arguing fervently with the Outsider, begging for his death.


End file.
